Page 3 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
I finally look at Zane but quickly direct my attention to my assistant when she moves to the front of my desk. Melissa clutches her iPad in one arm and her iPhone in the other; her crisp white button-down and lilac A-line skirt are in complete juxtaposition to what most people wear in the office. I make it a point not to give hertoomuch shit for it.
My uniform is a black, navy, brown, or gray suit with a pencil skirt or slacks, coordinating Louboutin pumps, and a crisp middle part with my hair straightened to submission down to where it falls just north of my ass.
Melissa, on the other hand, wears soft fabrics and colors, and her neat sisterlocs frame her face in a youthful bob.
She kinda reminds me of myself when I was her age—twenty-two, earthy, and bright with my future ahead of me.
Oh, how quickly things change.
“Would you like to review today’s notes now?” Melissa asks, adjusting her ever-present iPad and running a hand down her skirt as if she could dust off the last fifteen minutes.
She looks a little flushed. Melissa’s a kind soul, soft. I think that’s why I’m so hard on her. I always want to see other Black women succeed, especially in the world of finance and tech, and Melissa is brilliant.
But she’s also like a bunny in a fox den when it comes to people-ing.
The finish line is in sight. Just a few more weeks, and I can pull back.
Way back.
All this hard work will have been worth it when I enter semi-retirement before hitting forty.
“Liv, we need to discuss Keystone,” Zane says, giving Melissa a brief look as if she isn’t completely current on the biggest project Orisun has attempted to date.
“Take thirty to get yourself together, Melissa,” I say, scooting up in my chair and putting on my chunky glasses with clear frames. “You’ll give me a report when you’re done.”
I turn to my business partner.
“I have thirty minutes, Zane,” I say, checking my Cartier watch.
“Right,” Zane says, smiling softly and giving methat lookhe’s let slip in the weeks since we’ve been doing…whatever we’ve been doing.
But he knows me better than most people, and he knows I can compartmentalize like a motherfucker. So, there will be no soft eyes because Idoneed to talk to him about the annoying email I got from Keystone Financial’s COO.
“Yes, ma’am,” Melissa says, nodding to both of us and leaving my office with her head down.
We’ll need to work on that, too.
When the door closes with asnick,I speak before Zane can start acting on his other thoughts.
“Zane,” I start, looking at my computer screen. “Why has Mason LaBreque sent me an email this morning stating there’s still a delay on the due diligence report?”
Zane’s silent, and after ten seconds of waiting, I drag my attention from my iMac toward his lanky form.
Zane’s not bad looking at all. He’s a respectable height, which works since I’m only five-three. He looks a bit like Jake Gyllenhaal, with dark hair, stunning blue eyes, and an ever-present goofy half-smile.
“What is it?” I ask, leaning onto the armrest and pressing two fingers into my temple.
“Headache?” Zane asks, and his voice drops an octave.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But answer my question, Zane. These people keep delaying as if we don’t have a hard close datein twoweeksand $500 million on the line.”
Even saying the figure makes me feel a little sick.
But that’s what comes with buying a bank.
I start tapping my Mont Blanc pen on the pad next to my mouse, picking up a rhythmic cadence that usually soothes my frayed nerves without making an outward fuss about it.
“Hey,” Zane says, placing his hand over mine. I freeze on instinct. “Chill out. I’ll go down there and talk to them.”
